The child is a violin wrapped in dirty blood. He came & didn't demand milk. a stranger We don't quite know why the boy is here, thought that door was sealed, Nobody gets it. we had a riddle a glowing lump of brittle-- who didn't know sleep We have tried to rectify this. The child dreams & lasts a lifetime without waking, |
small & rounded. Perhaps, brown-skin & from the outside This is how I am, in my own home. how I was born, by myself. My mother was surprised to have me. She didn't know what to do-- with me. So I did it myself, fed, wiped, vanished. I was a mother for a hundred days. Now, I have grown so tired. of my own milk. It reeks of small compromise. I want to sleep after all of this acting. |